To be read at my funeral:
Dead people don’t get to talk, but I do. It’s the reader’s voice you’re hearing but these are my words, right from the underworld to your ears. And now that I’m gone, I can tell all about my truest, most honest feelings.
First of all, I never really liked my mother’s beloved dog. It was the ugliest, most annoying creature on earth. His high pitched barks were like that buzzing sound made by a fly flying over your ear at night, and sleeping to that noise was- well, it wasn’t “sleeping” at all.
What I enjoyed most about my life was eating pear marmalade. And staring at carpets. I’ve had the most amazing thoughts while I sat on the sofa, slowly eating a spoonful of the mouthwatering marmalade and gazing at the colorful, geometric shapes on the carpet, lost in another world.
Also, I honestly don’t care what my family does with my personal belongings. You can keep them, sell them, give them to charity, or build an art sculpture out of them, I don’t mind. Oh, but if you do decide to make an art sculpture; please use that dog as a construction material.
As for my factory- I would like it to be turned into an amusement park exclusively for people in a persistent vegetative state. There shall be a ferris wheel, two roller coaster rides (one being made entirely up of recycled plastic cutlery), and a haunted house attraction. I am completely serious about this, and as this document should also be considered my will, nobody is legally allowed to do anything with my factory except what I just stated.
Well, I guess that’s all. There are no “thank-you”s for anyone for helping through hard times, no “don’t miss me, you’ll be fine”s or any final words of wisdom because none of the social issues of the people who are left behind concern me now. My current status will not change if you throw a party and forget all about me or build a statue in my memory and read poems to it. I hope you can enjoy this opportunity of freedom to do whatever you truly want...
